We all reached over to help Jesus into the boat, just as a large wave rocked the vessel.

“Please, Jesus,” Judas pleaded.

The wind calmed.

“Oh you of little faith,” Jesus said.

“Who me?” Judas asked. Jesus didn’t answer. “However did you do that, Master?” Judas asked. “That walking on water.”

“It’s easy, Judas,” Jesus explained.

“How so, Lord?” Judas asked suspiciously. He was calm but still shot a nervous glance here and there for waves.

“Anyone can do it. Even you. It just takes practice. Rocky almost had it.”

“Probably a lot of practice,” said Andrew.

“That is so, Andrew. But if you try it over and over, a thousand and another thousand times, you will do it.”

“A thousand and another thousand?” Andrew asked hopelessly.

“No, really?” exclaimed Judas. “I gotta try this.”

Judas was always so envious of Jesus—wanting to wield his powers to “do things right.” But his envy didn’t wish for the power to teach; or the power to cure; or the power to love; and certainly not the power to forgive.

A Zealot, he was always wishing he could have Jesus-like powers to bring down the Romans. By force—heavenly force.

He was too poisoned in his ambition to bring down the Roman world to realize that heavenly force was an oxymoron. And I think he definitely was cheering for the bad angels in the fight, wanting a piece of the adoration pie himself. And now here was Jesus telling him how to do something that the rest of the world thinks only a Messiah can do, so Judas is on it like stink on shit.

He takes a step overboard, and for just a moment it looks like he may have the knack—but just for a split second, because he immediately starts to wobble, and guess what? That’s right.

“Man overboard!” shouted James.

“No shit, Socrates,” I said. Jesus just stood in the boat, unconcerned.

“Uh, Lord,” stammered Rocky, “Judas can’t swim.”

“Yea,” said Andrew, “shouldn’t we fetch him out really quick?”

“Nah,” answered Jesus, “let him stay down another minute. Consider it his baptism.” We sat impatiently until we couldn’t take it anymore.

“Lord, please!” James shouted. “Save him.”

“He’s already saved,” Jesus said, “if he’s been baptized. If he's renounced Satan and his pomps.” Another moment passed. “What’s the worse thing that can happen?” asked Jesus. “What? He could drown? He could die? And then I’d bring him back to life?”

“Maybe,” I added, “but not without debate. It’d be unpleasant.”

“That he died? Or that he’d come back to life?” asked Rocky innocently.

Jesus, as usual, had a point. How bad could it get with Jesus around? He knew cardiopulmonary resuscitation millennia before EMS. He was cardiopulmonary resuscitation.

“OK, fellas,” Jesus signaled. “Now.”

We hurriedly reached for the spot in the water with oars. We jabbed where the bubbles were, and I can tell you they all weren’t bubbles from his mouth and nose. We worked hard to bring him aboard. Judas grabbed back. Finally, when we had him back on board, we thought that that little episode was over, but then he threw up all over the damn boat.

“Satisfied, Jesus?” I barked. “Now who’s going to clean that up?” When Judas finished all of his coughing and hacking, he got a few words out with the greatest of difficulty.

“I’ll get you for this, Jesus,” he sputtered.

“Gotcha,” Jesus said back, then slumped up against the inside of the boat and puffed up some netting for him to lay his head and was soon asleep.

“Was that just mean, or was that symbolic of some complex theological point?” asked James.

“Mean,” coughed Judas.

“Mean…sort of, I guess,” said Andrew.

“So, Judas, why’d you step out of the boat if you can’t swim?” I asked.

“Let’s just say,” Judas said, “I had faith. More faith than the bunch of ya.”

"A fisherman who can't swim!" scoffed James.

“No, it was all symbolic,” disagreed Rocky, “but I don’t get it.”

“I think it was symbolic of you being a big jerk,” I told Judas. “You can’t just let Jesus be Jesus, doing Jesus things. No, you gotta horn in.”

“Shut up,” scowled Judas. “I might have known you’d take up for Jesus.”

“You obviously don’t like him. Why don’t you quit the club? Why do you keep hanging around him? Why do you keep follow him? Especially into the water? Ass.”

“For the chicks,” answered Judas. Such a Judas thing to say.

Judas didn’t mean that, of course. Not all the way, anyway. He was an unsightly man such that even Jesus couldn’t help him in that department. And he had that gimp right hand. And he had bad breath, too. Hell, I think the only thing holding in the teeth he still had was plaque.

It continued to be a bad boat ride for Judas. As soon as Jesus nodded off, the wind picked up again, as if it was his consciousness which held it at bay. Judas had already been through a lot and wasn’t ready to confront his fears again. The man was shaking from cold and from fear. When the boat began to rock such that we had to grab each other to steady ourselves, Judas leaned over Jesus.

“Master,” he whispered in a panicky tone, “wake up! The waves are rising again.” True to the report, a large waved slapped the boat. “Master!” Judas shouted. “You sleep while we drown. The rest of us can’t just walk away like you. How can you sleep?”

“Sleep,” Jesus muttered with one eye open, the other undecided, “is a gift from God.”

“Master, please,” Judas continued.

Jesus rose begrudgingly and the winds fell. He shot us all a look; he was aggravated. He stepped over the side of the boat, and skipped away on the waves. Judas cursed him, so we all started kicking him. He kicked back ineffectively with his own nasty feet.

One time I asked the Magdaline if she had ever washed Judas’ feet.

“Oh,” she said, “I think I get around to most everybody’s feet in time.”

“Well?”

“Well, what?” she asked.

“Is he a regular guy? You know, does he like women?”

“No, I can’t say that he does.”

“I knew it!” I exclaimed.

“Actually, it’s not like that,” she was quick to explain. “He doesn’t like anybody.”

“Oh.”

So he really wasn’t hanging out for the chicks. No, he was hanging around for a bigger payoff. He really did have faith. He had faith that the new world order was coming with Israel as the new boss. He had faith that the legions of angels would come down and kick Roman ass and take names, and he'd be there to supervise. He had faith that when that happened he’d be on the second to highest tier in the pyramid with the rest of the Apostles. He had faith that one day he’d be a Jew with a Mercedes-Benz, and although that’s a German car, that wouldn’t matter.

Judas is always portrayed as this sympathetic character. “Someone had to turn him in,” I keep hearing. Or, “Jesus knew he would do it, so why did he pick him as an Apostle if he knew it?”

Or even, “Judas is the unlikely hero of the Jesus saga.”

That’s all a big history revisionist pile of crap.

All of us had our unsavory sides. We were all uneducated, illiterate drifter losers and reprobates. Rocky denied Jesus, Thomas doubted him, and Mary Magdalene wouldn’t even smile for him.

But Judas turned him in.

Look, Jesus was heading that way anyway. Annas and Caiaphas were gunning for him; Herod was gunning for him; half the Sanhedrin were just waiting to nab 'im. The course was set. This tide that was the future was out, but it was about to roll back in with a vengeance. Jesus didn’t need Judas—the tsunami was coming with or without him. Judas didn’t change anything. Just got it going a day or two sooner.

Because of Judas, it’s Easter Sunday, not Easter Monday, that’s all, although many places make a 3-day weekend out of it anyway.

So Judas in no way had to turn him in, as turning Jesus in at all was so unnecessary.

But Judas made that choice.

Andrew Lloyd Weber can sing his Jesus Christ Superstar songs about poor old Judas and good ol’ Judas, but if Andrew Lloyd Weber ever had to hang on a cross for even a minute, he’d never forgive the likes of that piece of shit. Did I mention that crucifixion is on my list of things I never want to happen to me? Or going overboard like Judas the Zealot was gonna?

"[11] My child, don’t reject the Lord’s discipline, and don’t be upset when he corrects you. [12] For the Lord corrects those he loves, just as a father corrects a child in whom he delights (Proverbs 3:11-12 NLT)."

Just like any other human would feel, being told what you're doing could be better, and/or being corrected when you've made a poor choice isn't an easy thing to accept. Yet, being able to accept that we don't have all the answers and can always do better, and that we sometimes have to get redirected from the wrong paths are both an invaluable life skills. As a Pre-K teacher, I not only need to be open to ways I can improve my teaching, but it is my calling to show my students a better way if they are making harmful choices, and I need to continue to work on delivering this information in a loving, supportive way. And through my passion and other calling of acting, it is imperative to be coachable when feedback is provided on how I can improve my performances, and I need to acknowledge that the feedback I am receiving is being given by someone that also wants the show we are performing for our guests to be the best it can be. And as a father, it is extremely important to give loving discipline to my children, and accept the discipline for myself when I fall short in the parenting department.

Lord, I confess that although I am a huge fan of growing and improving in the things I do, I can also grow and improve at not only accepting discipline and feedback, but also giving it in a loving way. As I navigate a challenging school year, I especially appreciate You reminding me the importance of giving and receiving loving discipline in my classroom and beyond. Please help me to not only continue to take this to heart, but to keep growing in not only receiving and implementing loving discipline and feedback, but giving it in loving and caring ways. In Jesus' name I pray, Amen.

Does God get sad when I say I just can't love me?

Does God get mad when I give up my own being?

Am I not forsaken when I forsake myself?

Am I failing Him when I hurt my mental health?

God, won't You tell me someday, please?

Why can't these awful demons leave?

Filling my head with all these doubts,

Jesus, this is my final shout.

God, if not now, then in the end,

Tell me why Your Son would descend

For someone so flawed, such as me.

He saved my soul? Sounds like a dream.

Beyond my wildest, it sounds so childish.

Childish to believe, I guess I'm just naive.

I'm feeling so alone, insecure to my bones.

Getting close to Your gates, this really is my fate.

They say we were made in God's perfect image.

Does nobody else worry in this village

That we're pulled out of that image by Satan?

Or maybe it's too much, these expectations.

These basic Christians want me okay 'cause,

"If you can't love you, remember God does,"

They really all think that this is the cure,

But even with this, I stay insecure.

But even with this, my world is obscure.

'Cause, even in the back of their faith lined minds,

I can't seem to comprehend how they don't find,

God made all of us in the same perfect mold.

Makes me feel that same feeling of doubt tenfold.

Does He get sad when I cry all alone?

Or does His Expression remain like stone?

Will He carry my broken soul upstairs

When Satan kills me, as I feel Death's glare?

When this world ends me, with dagger-filled stares?

I gotta hope, and I gotta pray.

Awaiting Your heaven every day.

Yelling to the sky, infinity.

Talking to You, my holy trinity.